


get your towels ready, it's about to go down

by saysthemagpie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Harry's not very bright, Humor, M/M, Matchmaking, but he sure loves golf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 01:52:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7598860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saysthemagpie/pseuds/saysthemagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what really happened after the yacht.</p><p>(niall and harry get together.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	get your towels ready, it's about to go down

**Author's Note:**

> this is a sequel to the very short, very silly [gonna fly this boat to the moon somehow](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6766468). read that one first, it'll take you two seconds. dedicated to my yachtgate anon, who asked for a sequel where niall and harry get together. 
> 
> as always, thank youuuu to [harrymynewborngiraffe](http://www.harrymynewborngiraffe.tumblr.com), who reads all my shitty drafts.
> 
> technically this is hendall too, but in a gay besties kinda way.

It's been a month since the yacht and Harry's still hanging around. 

"Don't you have a movie to film?" Kendall asks one afternoon, after he's followed her to morning yoga, an awkward lunch with Gigi, and finally to Starbucks, where he'd spent ten minutes dithering over whether he wanted almond milk or soy in his coffee. 

Harry trails after her into the kitchen, sucking industriously at his straw. In the end he'd settled on a venti-sized glass of ice water. 

“The movie's not till next month,” he reminds her, making himself comfortable on one of the barstools. “So we’ve got ages to hang out before I leave. Did I tell you how I’m going to live on a boat with Tom Hardy and eat rations?”

"You might’ve mentioned it,” she says.

“It’s going to be sick.” Harry kicks at the rungs of his stool and chews noisily on a piece of ice. “Am I going to get scurvy, do you think?”

“Probably not.” Kendall checks her texts. Gigi still hasn’t responded to the _sorry about lunch hes very clingy rn ?? idk whats up_ message she’d sent from the Starbucks bathroom forty minutes ago. 

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, having scurvy,” Harry says. “’Cos if I were ill everyone would come and see me, I bet. And they’d bring cards saying how they love me best and they hope I feel better soon and stuff like that.”

Kendall makes an affirming noise. She wonders if she should try sending the text again. Maybe it hadn’t gone through. 

“And if I died everyone would feel so sad,” says Harry reflectively. “They’d think _Oh, he’s so nice, it’s such a shame he got scurvy and died before we could text him back._ ”

“Mm, yeah,” Kendall says, and then, “Wait, what? Harry, there’s no way they’d let you die on set. The lawsuit would be a nightmare, for starters.”

Harry doesn’t respond. When she looks up he’s clutching his empty Starbucks cup with both hands and staring off into the distance, a forlorn look on his face. The expression’s so foreign on him Kendall actually feels a little alarmed. 

She’s always thought of Harry as a kind of human succulent plant: fairly low maintenance as long as he receives some affection and hair-petting every now and then. Now that she thinks about it, though, he’s seemed off for a while now. There’s the clinginess, for one, and the fact that someone’s been rewatching all of _Unlikely Animal Friendships_ on her Netflix account. And now scurvy? 

“Babe,” she says. “Everything okay?”

“Huh?” Harry says. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was just, um. Thinking about something.” 

“They really won’t let you get sick, babe.” Kendall settles onto the barstool next to him, putting her phone down on the counter. “Like, I bet you could get them to put it in your contract. Tom Hardy has to feed you orange slices if you aren’t feeling well. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“No, I—I dunno.” Harry takes a deep breath, then says very quickly, “Have you ever done something and then wished you hadn’t done it, except you can’t undo it, so you just think, like, _Oh fuck, I wish I hadn’t done that, but I can’t undo it_?”

Kendall’s starting to think she knows what this is about. "Harry—" she starts to say, before her phone lights up on the counter between them. 

**ugh its fineee** Gigi’s texted. **ru coming over later tho??**

Harry reads it, mouth forming the shape of the words. “Oh,” is all he says. “Um, well. I should go home, I guess.” He tries on a wobbly smile. “Reckon you’re sick of me hanging around anyway.”

“Ah—no, of course not,” Kendall says, flipping her phone over. She’ll make it up to Gigi later. “I mean, I can see her anytime. But you’re leaving _really_ soon, right? And who knows when I’ll see you after that, since you’ll be so busy being a movie star and all.”

“I’ll still be a really good boyfriend,” Harry promises. “I’ll call you every day and you can come visit me whenever you want, and I’ll think of you all the time—”

“That’s nice, Harry,” Kendall says, patting his hand. “But, like, I definitely wouldn’t want you to be distracted. Now come on, let’s do something fun. D’you want to go swimming?”

Harry brightens immediately. “Can we play Simon Says?”

“Definitely,” Kendall says. “You’re so good at that one.”

“I won Best Listener twice in primary school,” Harry says, preening a little. “That’s why I’m going to be a good soldier, my mum says. ‘Cos I’m really good at following directions.”

“Hmm,” Kendall says, looking at him. She’s starting to get an idea.

*

“Hey,” she says later, when they’re spooned up on the big couch in her living room watching TV. Harry’s insisted they put on something called _Twin Peaks_ , except he’s spent most of the episode Googling lines from it to tweet instead of watching it. “Remember that time you won Best Listener?”

Harry wriggles around in her arms so he’s facing her. “Twice! And that’s why I’m going to be so good at soldiering, remember?”

“Mmhm,” Kendall says. “Except I was thinking, that was a really long time ago. What if you’ve gotten rusty since then?”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Oh no,” he breathes. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“So maybe you should practice,” Kendall suggests. “You know, just to make sure you can still do it. Like, somebody could give you orders and then you could follow them.” 

“Tom Hardy?” Harry asks hopefully. “I should ask him, right?”

"But what if you mess up?” says Kendall. "That’s a lot of pressure, practicing with a real actor. Maybe somebody else could help you first.”

“That’s smart,” Harry says. “You’re so smart, Kendall. But who can I ask?”

Kendall glances around the empty living room. It only takes Harry a couple seconds to catch on. 

“Wait, I know.” He sits up on the couch, looking excited. “You could do it!”

“We-ell,” Kendall says. “I guess I could try.”

“Please,” Harry says fervently. “You have to help me, Kendall.”

“How about—touch your nose.”

Harry nearly slaps himself in the face in his haste to obey. He looks at her eagerly. 

“That was great, Harry.” She pats his leg. “Now go run a lap around the pool.” 

“It’s like exercise too,” says Harry happily, leaping up out of his chair and sprinting out the back door.

It’s lucky she’s not the type to go mad with power, Kendall thinks. While Harry’s gone she gets his phone out of his bag and keys in the passcode, scrolling through his texts till she finds the name she’s looking for. She scans the message history, frowning, then locks the phone and drops it back on the couch. 

“I did two laps,” Harry gasps, bursting through the door and flopping down on the sofa. “Give me another. This is fun.” 

“Maybe these orders are too easy,” Kendall says. “We should try something more complicated.”

Harry gives her a mock salute. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.” 

“Cool,” says Kendall. “Now text Niall and tell him he’s coming to dinner tomorrow night.” 

“Wha—Kendall, I can’t do that!”

“Why not?” Kendall asks. “He’s in town, isn’t he? I saw it on Twitter.”

“I dunno.” Harry looks evasive. “Maybe he is, maybe he’s not. S’not like I have a Google alert on him or anything.”

“But you’re his best friend,” Kendall presses. “And I know you haven’t seen him in weeks. Have you even talked to him once since the yacht?”

Harry’s bottom lip starts quivering. 

“Whoa there,” Kendall says, scooting towards him. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

Harry sniffles a little, head-butting at her shoulder till she lets him snuggle in closer. “I _thought_ we were best friends,” he says, voice muffled. “But I dunno. Everything’s weird now.” 

“Weird how?”

Harry sniffles into her shirt. “Just weird.”

“Hm,” Kendall says. “Is this because you sent him a video of you jacking off and he didn’t text you back?”

“It was an artistic selfie,” Harry wails. “That’s what you said!”

"Oh, right," she says, feeling pleased with herself all over again. God, she's so clever. 

“How’d you know he didn’t text me back, anyway?” Harry turns his face so he can look up at her, his eyes crossing slightly. 

“Maybe I can read minds,” says Kendall, raising her eyebrows. 

Harry looks surprised, then wary, then guilty. “You can’t,” he says, though he doesn’t sound very sure. 

“Let me try.” Kendall screws up her face like she’s thinking really hard. “Right now my powers are telling me that you want to have sex with Niall.”

“That’s private!” Harry yelps, then claps his hands over his mouth. 

“But it’s true, right?”

Harry hems and haws.

“Yes or no,” Kendall says impatiently. “Answer fast. Lightning round.”

“Yes!” Harry blurts out, before slumping back onto the sofa, defeated. “It’s true, okay? I just keep thinking about all those things you said. When we were, um. Filming.” 

“Oh, right.” Kendall tries to remember. “Like about him getting out of the shower? And how he gets all sweaty when he works out?”

Harry’s mouth falls halfway open. “Yeah,” he sighs, then adds hastily, “I mean, not that I’d ever—you’re my girlfriend and I’d never cheat on you, never. ‘Cos I respect you too much.”

“I know, babe,” Kendall says, “and you’re like, an amazing feminist, basically—”

“ _He for She_ ,” says Harry proudly. "Remember when I tweeted that?”

“Mmhm,” she says. “But listen, Harry, we’re a modern couple. We can’t be bound by outdated concepts like monogamy, you know? I’ve always thought of us as sort of, um, demi-bi-panamorous as a couple.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry’s brow furrows. “Wait, I forgot what that means.”

“It means—ah, sometimes we have sex with each other,” Kendall says, “but mostly we have sex with other people.”

“So it’s like, 50/50?” 

“Mm, more of a spectrum, really,” says Kendall. “Like for example, at this stage in our lives, I’m mostly sleeping with women, and you're mostly sleeping with people you’re best friends with.” 

“Are you?” Harry asks confusedly. “Wait, am I?”

“It’s a pretty new development for both of us,” says Kendall, patting him on the arm, “but I know we’ll support each other through this transitional time. The point is, there’s nothing stopping you from going out and getting your man.”

“Except he never texted me back.” Harry’s lip is trembling again. “And that means he didn’t like the video and he didn’t miss me on the yacht and he’ll never ever love me.”

"Whoa, mister, none of that negative energy in this house,” Kendall says, putting the brakes on an impending sulk. “You get your phone out and text him right now. Dinner tomorrow, 7 o’clock.”

“But _Kendall_ —”

“That’s an order, Private Styles,” she says firmly. “And watch how you address your commanding officer, or I’ll have to write you up for insubordination.” 

*

The doorbell rings at two minutes to seven the next evening.

Niall’s wearing a nice shirt with horses printed on it and a very anxious expression. He’s carrying the largest fruit basket Kendall’s ever seen.

“Wow,” Kendall says. 

“Sorry,” says Niall, coloring. “Sort of lost me head in the shop. Is it—it’s too much, yeah? I’ll just put it back in the car.” He starts to turn around, wobbling a little under its weight. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kendall says firmly. “Harry’s going to lose his mind.” 

“Pineapple skewers!” Harry cries when Kendall comes back into the kitchen, the basket held aloft. When he sees who’s following her, his eyes go wide. 

"Niall,” he says breathlessly, upsetting most of the bottle of olive oil into the salad. “You came.”

“Said I would, didn’t I,” Niall says. “You look well.” 

Harry beams at Niall. He’s gone tits-out for the occasion, his sheer black top unbuttoned almost to the navel. “It’s ‘cos I’m doing this new cleanse,” he says happily. “You just put a little bit of sand in all your smoothies. For, like, roughage.” 

Well, that would explain why all of her blenders have mysteriously stopped working. 

“Ah, sick,” Niall says, and then seems unable to think of anything else to add. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks at the ground. 

Harry’s smile falters a little. 

“Wine?” Kendall asks.

“Um, sure,” says Niall. “Listen, s’really nice of you two to invite me over, but I dunno if I can stay very long.” 

Harry picks up the tongs and begins angrily tossing the salad. 

“Wine first,” Kendall says, pressing a generously sized glass of red into Niall’s hand. “And dinner. We made it specially for you.” 

“Oh, but if he’s got somewhere to be,” Harry says, his expression growing stormier by the minute. A Category 5 sulk's blowing in, by the looks of it. “We wouldn’t want to keep Niall from all the very important things on his schedule.”

“It’s just—um, a thing, later,” says Niall, visibly improvising. “With some mates. A golf thing.”

“Right,” Harry says flatly. “Golf.”

“Harry loves golf,” Kendall puts in. “He’s like, really passionate about it.”

“Am I,” says Harry. 

“You are,” says Kendall firmly. “Niall, you wouldn’t believe how much he talks about it. Like, sometimes you just want to tear your hair out and yell, _Okay Harry, we get it, you’re madly in love with golf_.” 

Niall opens his mouth to say something, but Harry beats him to the punch. “Maybe I don’t fancy golf as much as I thought,” he says, glaring at Kendall. 

“Golf’s like, your number one interest,” says Kendall. “Nothing makes you happier than golf.” 

“It could’ve just been a youthful infatuation,” says Harry stubbornly. “Maybe I was just spending loads of time golfing and I thought, _Hey, I must like golf ‘cos I’m spending loads of time on it,_ but really I was just confused and I’m actually into, like, fly-fishing.”

Kendall resists the urge to down her own glass of wine. “Harry,” she says patiently. “That would be totally fine, except I think it’s pretty obvious that you just aren’t that into fly-fishing, when it comes right down to it. And that’s probably because you really, really, really love golf.” 

Harry drops the salad tongs. “Well, maybe golf doesn’t love me back,” he hisses. “Ever think of that, Kendall?”

Niall clears his throat awkwardly. “Er,” he says when they both look at him. “Are you much of a golfer then, Kendall?”

“Not really,” says Kendall, “though I’ll golf now and then, for the greater good. Harry, could I talk to you in the living room for a minute, please?”

*

“We have a plan, Harry,” she says. “Remember the plan? Do you need to look at the Google doc again?”

Harry’s munching moodily on a pineapple skewer. "It’s not going to work,” he says. “You heard him. He’s going to leave early.”

“Niall’s just feeling confused right now,” says Kendall. “Which is why we’ve got to make him even more confused, okay? Then it’ll cancel out and everything will make sense again.” 

“He’s straight,” Harry says, a tragic expression on his face. “I know it. That’s why he didn’t answer my text. I bet he’s in there thinking about girls right this instant.” 

“Hey,” Kendall says. “Did you forget you’re talking to a real life mind-reader?”

“So what’s he thinking about, then?” Harry asks, a touch belligerently. 

Kendall glances back into the kitchen. Niall’s standing in the middle of the room where they’d left him, his back to the door. As she watches he mimes swinging a golf club, then makes a visor with his hand and stares off into the distance, whistling softly.

“He’s thinking about that video,” she says, keeping her voice low. “How hot you looked, touching yourself like that. Saying his name.” 

Harry twitches a little, then stills. “I dunno if I believe you,” he says slowly. “I think sometimes you trick me.”

Kendall shrugs. “You can believe whatever you want,” she says. “But I’ve got two words for you, Harry: Fruit. Basket.”

Harry looks at the pineapple skewer in his hand. “I guess it is pretty big." 

“Kinda like your dick.” Kendall raises her eyebrows. “I’m not saying it’s subliminal messaging, but I’m not saying it’s _not_ , if you follow.”

“So you think—" Harry's brow furrows. "You think he wants to have sex with me, maybe?” 

“Honestly?” says Kendall, dropping her voice. “I think he wants to put a baby in you.” 

Harry shivers so hard he accidentally snaps the pineapple skewer in half. “Whoops,” he says. He licks a trail of pineapple juice off his wrist, before starting to carefully suck his fingers clean. Just then Niall sticks his head around the corner. 

“Everything all right in here?” 

“Mmmph,” says Harry, pink lips stretched wide around the fingers he’s crammed into his mouth. Niall’s eyes widen at the sight. 

“Um, I’ll just—sorry," he says in an odd strangled sort of voice, retreating back into the kitchen. 

“Good boy,” says Kendall approvingly. “That was perfect. Now just keep it up, okay?”

Harry smacks his lips with relish. “Keep what up?” 

*

Dinner goes beautifully. 

Harry spends most of the meal polishing his cutlery with his tongue and staring fixedly at Niall’s mouth. Niall's trying to tell them a story about a charity event he's organizing, but keeps getting distracted at the sight of Harry delicately tracing the stem of his fork with his tongue. 

"And then I, um," Niall stammers. He has to raise his voice to be heard over Harry, who’s slurping his soup in a manner that can only be described as _disconcertingly erotic_. "I said to Justin, we should go with the fake grass instead, ’cos—” 

“Oh god,” Harry moans. “Oh god, this feels amazing in my mouth.” 

Niall nearly upsets his wine glass. 

“Everything all right?” Kendall asks politely. 

“It’s just—nothing,” Niall says, his voice faint. “It’s nothing. I should, um. Be going in a bit, probably.”

Time to implement Phase II, Kendall thinks. "Do you think I'm hot, Niall?" she asks casually, taking a sip of her wine. 

Niall chokes on air. "Sorry, what?"

"Hot," Kendall repeats. "Like on a scale of one to totally bangable, where would you put me?"

"Bangable and a half, right?" says Harry, ever loyal. 

"Thanks, Harry," says Kendall says. "But I'd love to hear what Niall thinks. He's our guest, after all."

Niall turns pink. He glances at Harry, who immediately starts fellating his spoon and making small contented noises. No refuge there. "You're, um. You're very pretty."

"Just pretty?" She raises her eyebrows. "What if I were naked? Zero clothes on. How would you feel about me then? Just hypothetically."

Niall looks terrified. Kendall might feel sorry for him, if he hadn't been such an idiot about the whole texting thing. All of this could've been resolved weeks ago. 

“Um,” he says.

"Oh, and I'm golfing.” Might as well speed things along. "Imagine that, Niall. I’m totally naked, golfing. It's a perfect day for it. Really nice outside, a gorgeous course. You’re into it, right?”

“I guess—I mean, if—” Niall flounders, turns even pinker. “But you. You and Harry, you’re—” 

"Cool with it," Kendall supplies. "We're totally cool with it, right Harry? Like, you thinking about me naked. Or him naked, if you wanted. Whichever.”

"I think everybody should be naked all the time,” says Harry, always eager to share his views on public nudity. “We could be naked right now if we wanted, right? 'Cos we're grown-ups, and it's private property, and all that.”

“That’s a great point,” says Kendall. “I mean, he’s right, it’s definitely legal. A little nakedness between consenting adults. What do you think, Niall?” 

“Is this some kind of prank?” Niall asks.

“More of an intervention, really,” says Kendall.

“A sex intervention,” Harry adds brightly. “Where we all have sex!”

“Sex?” Niall says, and then, “We?”

Kendall shrugs. “Or we could just skip to dessert. It’s chocolate mousse with whipped cream and cherries. Just curious, Niall, have you ever watched Harry eat whipped cream?”

“But, um,” Niall stammers. “I'm not, like—well, I mean. I'm sort of, like—”

“— flexible, right?” Kendall finishes. “You're flexible. Not hung up on labels.”

“Us either,” says Harry, who’s been surreptitiously unbuttoning his shirt as they talked. “Like, me and Kendall watch loads of gay porn and sometimes we even have sex with our best mates instead of each other. ‘Cos we’re just really _open_ , you know?” 

“Can we just—Harry, for Christ’s sake, don’t get your dick out!” Niall says hastily. 

Harry stops unzipping his jeans. “Too soon?”

“It’s a really nice dick, though,” Kendall says to Niall. “Though it's not like you haven’t seen it a billion times already.”

“Um,” Niall says weakly. “Not—not a billion.”

“A thousand,” Harry guesses. “Two thousand. Whoa, Niall, d’you reckon you’ve seen my dick two thousand times?”

“Not possible,” says Kendall. “You’d have to be whipping it out like, twice a day for five years to get those kind of numbers. Nobody takes their dick out that much.” 

That makes Niall snort. “Have you met him?” 

“Hey,” Harry says, injured. “You both said it was really nice.” 

“I did not say that,” says Niall.

“Oh, so you don’t think it’s nice,” says Harry hotly. “You think I’ve got a terrible dick, is that it? And that’s why you won’t have a threesome with us?”

“No!” Niall’s face is very pink. “I mean, no, s’not terrible, Harry, it’s—well, it’s massive, for starters, and that’s, uh, nice.” 

“But not nice for you,” says Harry. “You don’t want to sleep with m—with us, I mean.”

“I didn’t say that either.” Niall’s blush deepens. “It’s just—oh, come on, Harry, you can’t seriously be asking me to have a threesome with you and your girlfriend. It’s just too bloody weird.”

Kendall examines her fingernails. “Not much weirder than all those naked snuggling parties on tour, if you think about it.”

“That was—it was too hot to sleep with clothes on,” says Niall weakly. 

“Yeah, five-star hotels just aren’t what they used to be,” Kendall agrees. “All those broken air conditioners. Oh, and it’s so _weird_ how their showers are always running out of water.”

“That’s why you have to share,” Harry says earnestly. “Niall says it’s really important to conserve water. _Two at a time and you’ll be fine_ , that’s the rule.”

Kendall raises an eyebrow. “You were saying, Niall?”

“Oh, please have sex with us,” says Harry, squirming in his chair. He looks about ten seconds away from humping the table. “Pretty pretty please, Niall.” 

“Or there’s always the mousse,” Kendall says, nudging Harry under the table. Immediately he slips a hand inside his shirt and starts feeling up his own nipples. “Ohh,” he sighs. “Mm, yeah, _mousse_.” 

“That’s not fair,” says Niall. 

“Cherries too,” Kendall adds. “I did mention the cherries, right?” 

“Nnngh,” says Harry, gripping the table and breathing heavily through his nose. 

Niall puts his head down on the table, narrowly missing his olive oil-drenched salad. 

Kendall gives Harry a thumbs up. “What was that, Niall?” 

“I’ll do it,” Niall says, his voice muffled. “I’ll have the bloody threesome, if you make him stop.” 

“I can’t control him,” Kendall says. “I think I’ve created a monster.”

*

“Can’t fit,” Niall says. “There’s no way.” 

“It’s a king-sized bed, Niall,” Kendall says patiently. “We’re all going to fit on it, okay? Even if Harry’s taking up the middle of it.”

Harry is, in fact, taking up the entire middle of the bed. He’s on his back, completely naked, limbs spread-eagled out around him. His dick is very pink and very hard, and a little shiny at the tip where he’s leaking.

Niall is still fully dressed and looking more nervous than he had at dinner. The only gesture he’s made towards having a threesome, apart from shooting Harry longing glances, is lining everyone’s shoes up neatly by the bedroom door. 

“Hurry up,” Harry calls from the bed, thrashing in a way that he probably thinks is seductive. “I can’t wait much longer, I’m dying.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Kendall tells Niall. “You’re doing great. Why don’t you take your jeans off while I’m helping Harry out?”

She crawls onto the bed, still fully dressed, and settles over Harry’s lower thighs. 

“Going to put someone’s eye out with that thing,” she tells him. Dicks are nice and all, but on the whole she prefers the kind you can take off when you’re finished with them. 

“Please,” Harry says fervently. “Please touch me, Kendall.”

“Not tonight,” she says, but she does pat his thigh encouragingly, and strokes his belly a little too, the little pudge of fat he can’t get rid of. Harry whines a little at that, the sound high and needy enough to get both their attention. Niall stops undressing and stares at Harry, his jeans around his ankles. 

“I’ve been good,” Harry whimpers. “Haven’t I been good, Kendall?”

“Oh yeah, babe,” she murmurs. “You’ve been so perfect. You look so nice like this, all spread out for Niall to take. What d’you think he’s going to do to you first?”

The anticipation makes Harry’s fingers and toes curl, his thighs tensing. “I dunno,” he breathes out. “I wanna, like—I wanna suck him, Kendall, please. Can I?”

“That’s up to Niall,” says Kendall. “Niall, would you like Harry to suck your cock?”

Niall sucks in a startled breath, chokes.

“Poor Harry,” Kendall’s petting his stomach again. “He wants it so badly, but if you don’t want him to—”

“No, no,” Niall says quickly. “That's fine. But isn’t he—he said he was dying.”

“We all know he’s a drama queen,” says Kendall, “and besides, he likes that, having to wait.”

“Really?” 

Kendall’s actually just improvising here. She and Harry are a pretty classic case of fly-fishing vs. golf, which means most of their make-out sessions end with them spooning and watching TV. That said, she’s got a fairly good grasp of Harry’s character, not to mention a healthy store of fantasies to draw from. They really do watch a lot of gay porn. 

“Tell him he can’t come till he’s gotten you off,” she suggests. “And he’s got to be a very, very good boy or he won’t get to come at all.”

Harry turns his face away and groans softly into the pillow. 

“Briefs too,” Kendall says to Niall. “That’s it. Now c’mere and put your legs like that—yeah, that’s great. Perfect, just shuffle up close.”

“Is this okay?” Niall’s straddling Harry’s chest now, cradling his dick in one hand.

“Doing so good.” Kendall strokes his scrawny little calf soothingly. “Lean forward like that—yeah, put your hand on the headboard, if you want. Now let him taste it, just a little.”

“Oh,” says Harry, and then “ _Ah_ ,” says Niall, and for a few seconds the only noises in the room are the soft wet sounds of Harry’s mouth working. 

“What’s it like, Harry?” Kendall settles back onto the bed beside them to enjoy the view. Harry’s staring up at Niall, his green eyes wide and round as saucers as he suckles gently at the rosy pink head of Niall's cock. 

“S’nice,” Harry murmurs, his voice low and syrupy. “More, please.”

“Give him some more,” Kendall instructs Niall. “Press in slow for now. He’ll tell you if it’s too much.

Niall just nods, incapable of speech. His face and naked shoulders are flushed, like the skin would feel hot if she reached out and touched him. She doesn’t, though, just watches the way he slides infinitesimally forward, Harry’s lips stretching to accommodate his girth. Harry takes him half way before he chokes, starts coughing.

“Oh Christ.” Niall pulls out immediately, looking chagrined. “Sorry, Haz, sorry—”

Harry lifts his head up a little. “Again,” he says hoarsely. “I c’n—been practicing, do it again. Harder.”

“Bit different than a banana, Haz,” Niall says. 

“I want to,” Harry insists. He turns his head, suddenly shy, and nuzzles into Kendall's hand.

"Think he wants to choke on your dick, actually," says Kendall, interested. "Show you how well he can take it."

"Yeah?" Niall's voice is rough. He cards his fingers through Harry's thick curls, tugging till his mouth drops halfway open again. 

“Tell him,” says Kendall suddenly. “Tell him what you’re gonna do to him.”

Niall’s throat works for a moment. “Gonna—gonna fuck his mouth.” He sounds somewhere between pained and giddy, like he’s so turned on he can’t figure out how he feels. She kind of sympathizes. 

Kendall props herself up on her elbow. “Just like you wanted, babe,” she murmurs softly, sliding a hand down to stroke the velvety soft skin of Harry’s inner thigh. “Tap his leg, okay? If you want him to stop.”

It’s not slow this time, not tentative. Niall’s got a hand in Harry’s hair, holding him in place as he fucks into the lush wet cavern of his mouth. There’s nowhere for Harry to go, no way for him to squirm away, and god, does he _love_ that, if the way his eyes glaze over is any indication. His dick’s bobbing against his stomach, painfully hard, but Harry doesn’t even try to touch himself, keeps his hands fisted in the sheets. The only sounds in the room are the choked little whimpers he’s making, the slap of skin, the harsh edge of Niall’s breathing as he thrusts. After a moment Harry flings his hand out and Kendall catches it, squeezes it in hers.

"Talk to him," she says to Niall. "Tell him what it feels like. How much you want it."

"Fuck," Niall chokes out. "Want it, Harry, god—got th’ best bloody mouth. Knew you'd be—fuckin' gorgeous like this, petal, s'perfect." He groans, tensing. “Fuck, Harry, ‘m close, I—“ He breaks off suddenly. Harry's tapping insistently at his thigh, an urgent look in his eyes.

“Hafta tell you something,” he croaks out when Niall pulls out. “Something big.” 

“Can it wait?” Niall grits out, bracing himself against the headboard. 

“I lied to you," says Harry. "At dinner.”

“Tom Hardy’s not going to feed you oranges?”

"No, I meant—when I said I didn’t like golf. I was lying to you.”

"That's my boy," says Niall proudly. "Best sport in th' world. Knew you'd come back around.”

“No, I—” Harry breaks off, frustrated. He steals a glance at Kendall, who gives him a thumbs-up and mimes a blowjob, thrusting her tongue into her cheek in case he’s lost the thread. With Harry you never know.

Instead Harry struggles to sit up, wriggling out from underneath Niall. "I thought I'd get over it," he says. "And like, fly-fishing's pretty fun, and there was the yacht and all. And maybe if I did something else I’d stop thinking about golf all the time, and wondering what golf was up to, and if golf was happy. Like, probably it was stupid to be into golf, because I didn't even know if I was good at it, or if it felt the same way, or—”

“Harry,” says Niall slowly. “Is golf a metaphor?”

"I dunno." Harry's voice is trembling a little. "I mean, maybe it is, but. What if I say I like golf as more than a friend, but golf says _Whoa, actually we're just mates_?"

Kendall's holding her breath, watching them. Niall straightens up, crosses his legs and sits face to face with Harry. "You’ve just had my dick in your mouth, Haz,” he says. “Think the _just mates_ ship has sailed, don’t you?”

“You didn’t text me back,” Harry says. “I sent you a wanking video and you never said anything. Not even, like, _This video sucks,_ or _Wrong number_ or anything.”

"You send me lots of things," says Niall. "A few weeks back you sent me about thirty gifs of kittens playing brass instruments in little marching band jackets. And a while before that you emailed me a tutorial on fishtail braids. I haven't even got long hair."

"Or a cat," Harry says sadly. "Even though I _said_ I'd take care of it if you ever had to go out of town."

Niall sighs. "Harry," he says. "You're about to go live on a boat with Tom Hardy and a million other hot actor blokes."

"Oh, so I can't have a cat, then?" Harry demands, outraged. "And put a little marching band jacket on it? Is that what you're trying to say? I can't be a normal person just 'cos I'm famous?"

"I don't know if that's actually normal," says Niall, "but that's not the point. That video was incredible, Harry, I must've wanked to it about a million times. Thought my dick was going to fall right off."

"That's good," says Harry. "That's a good thing, right? And now you're here, and we're having a threesome, and everything's going to be great. 'Cos Kendall and me are bi-panamorous and we don't believe in labels. We only sleep with our best mates, and Kendall's doing fly-fishing mostly now, and—"

"And I'm happy for you, really." Niall seems to be struggling to find the words. "It's just, um. I really like you, Harry, and you obviously—I mean, you like golf, which is great, but you've got all this other stuff going on too. And that's just not me, okay? This was fun, but I can't, like, be your third wheel. Or fourth, or whatever."

"I think the Tom Hardy stuff's just speculative at this point," Kendall puts in.

"Yeah, well, still." Niall looks a little miserable. "Listen, thanks for inviting me over, and for dinner and the blowjob and everything. But maybe it's best if I just go." He reaches for his briefs.

"No," Harry says, and tackles him to the bed.

"Harry, what—" Niall yelps, and then, "oh fuck, _fuck_ ," because Harry's sucking his cock again, head bobbing in his lap as he takes him deeper. He groans, hips jerking up hard, thighs straining. "Harry, I—" 

Before he can finish his sentence Harry pulls off again, gets a hand on him and starts wanking him off furiously. "Golf means you," he gasps, kissing the pink head of Niall's cock, tonguing a little at the slit. "It's you, Niall. It's always been you. And I wanna kiss you and suck you off and—and I want you to fuck me properly, and share showers, and watch the animal friends show and have naked snuggling parties, always. Don't leave me, Niall. Please don't go."

"You're the one who left," gasps Niall. "You got a girlfriend and went on a fancy yacht and there were all those pictures. And now Tom Hardy's probably going to fall in love with you too, 'cos of the oranges and the scurvy."

"I don't care about Tom Hardy," says Harry fervently. "I made up the oranges so you'd be jealous. And I only wanted to get scurvy so you'd come and see me on my deathbed."

"The yacht, though," Niall says. 

"The yacht was fun," says Harry, "but you weren't there, so it was the worst. But Kendall's the one who came up with the plan, and made the Google doc and everything, so it's cool."

"The plan?"

"The plan for how I'm going to get my man." Harry rubs his cheek against the spit-slick head of Niall's dick. "Which is you. Did I say that bit already?" 

"Say it again," Niall says, breathless. "God, Harry, 'm gonna—"

"I love you," says Harry, a big dopey grin on his face. "Niall Horan, I love you best of all."

Niall makes a pained noise—half growl, half sob—and comes, cock twitching in Harry's grip, painting white streaks across his pink cheeks, his half-parted lips.

“Oh, _nice_ ,” says Kendall, momentarily forgetting she’s meant to be blending into the background. Neither of them seems bothered, though. Harry uses the corner of the sheet to wipe his face clean, beaming at Niall all the while.

"That was good, right?" he says. 

Niall huffs out a laugh. He touches Harry's face, thumbing over his bottom lip. "Not bad," he says, his voice husky. "Christ, Harry. I wanna—wanna feed you oranges."

"Okay," agrees Harry, wriggling up closer. "Also you could kiss me. 

"That too," Niall says, and does, fitting their mouths very gently together. 

"Also," suggests Harry a few minutes later, wriggling some more, "you could make me come."

"Actually, hold up," says Kendall. They both look up, startled. "Harry, I think we should have a little talk first."

"Now?" asks Harry. "Wait, was this in the Google doc too?"

"Mm, no, it just came to me right this second," Kendall says. "It's just that I've been giving this relationship a lot of thought lately, and right now it sort of feels like we're going in two different directions."

"Oh," says Harry, looking confused. "Instead of just one, you mean?" 

"Exactly," says Kendall. "Which is why I think we should break up. Just so we can all, you know, explore our options."

"Like a hiatus?"

"Sure," Kendall allows. "But maybe the kind where we don't get back together at the end of it, because we've both moved on and we're doing other stuff that fulfills us. Like acting, or our best friends, or whatever."

Harry chews his lip for a minute, thinking about it. "Could there still be a reunion?"

"Oh, probably." Kendall slides off the bed, tugging her dress down. “If we're both broke someday. Not anytime soon." 

"No one's ever dumped me before," Harry says. "I dunno how to feel."

"Reckon I can think of a few ways to console you," says Niall. "I'll take good care of him, Kendall. Promise."

"I know you will." Kendall grabs her phone off the bedside table. Then, because Harry still looks sad, she reaches over and ruffles his hair.

"Hey," she says. "You're going to live happily ever after, babe."

"Am I?" Harry asks plaintively.

"Mmhm," says Kendall. "And that's an order, Private Styles."

Harry looks at her. Then he looks down at Niall, spread out on the bed beneath him. Slowly he starts to grin.

"Yes sir," he says. "Right away, sir."

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr! fic blog is [here](http://www.saysthemagpie.tumblr.com).


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